Colour
by cjdreams98
Summary: Phil lives in a world of colour, where he can see the aura and emotions of everyone around him; Dan, the new boy at school, lives in a world of darkness, stifled by his struggle with depression. What will happen when they meet? TW: Depression, anxiety, mentions of self harm and suicide.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone has a favourite colour – at least, one they always pick when it's 3AM and they've wound up taking silly Buzzfeed quizzes to kill time until sleep comes… again. You probably know, at the very least, what colour clothes you like to wear or what shade of the sky is your favourite. What most people don't know, is that they also have a colour, one that defines their energy or spirit.

Phil can see these colours.

Most often, they appear to surround someone, a soft, glowing, halo of light. For some, the colours run through their veins or shine through the thin skin of closed eyelids. In rare cases, they race across palms, reaching from the fingertips like flames. It's something Phil never quite gets used to, and almost everyone he meets stays with him long after they leave his life, their colour lingering in the corner of his vision, just out of reach.

Not that he ever mentions this. Phil realised he was different when he was five years old, and a girl joined his class weeks after everyone had already started school. She had a wild mop of dark curls that bounced on her shoulders and wave after wave of gold rushed across her freckled skin.

She was so bright.

'You're glowing,' he'd tried to explain when he got the chance to talk to her, 'like a sunset.'

But of course, she didn't understand. None of the other kids did, because they couldn't see, and Phil went from the likeable, quirky, class clown to an outcast in the space of an afternoon.

Suffice to say, he doesn't like to talk about the colours anymore.

Now, he keeps to himself for the most part, and his greatest supporters are the handful of people who watch his YouTube videos on a regular basis. He prefers it that way, knowing he can't get himself into any awkward situations – that is, until he doesn't prefer it.

Until he gets into the most awkward situation of all.

Until he meets Dan Howell.

Dan's favourite colour is black. He jokes that it matches his soul, and that his clothes are all part of an ironic, edgy, aesthetic, but that's not strictly the case. He just likes feeling hidden, like he's a part of the shadows everyone walks past without a second glance.

In the least ironic way possible, Dan Howell wants to disappear. Has done all his life.

At some point, wanting to disappear… evolved. Into depression. Into disordered eating, self-harm, and suicide attempts.

Congratulations! Your ANGST has evolved into CRIPPLING MENTAL ILLNESS!

Not quite how he'd imagined his teenage years, but then he supposed that was just his luck.

Whoop-dee-freaking-do and yippee-kai-ay

Scowling to himself, Dan shook his head and dug his nails into his palms to snap himself back to reality. That 'crippling mental illness' was why he was here after all. Following his drunken suicide attempt three months ago, Dan's parents had decided their 16-year-old son needed a change of scenery in the form of a new school.

New town, new school, new life; couldn't be simpler!

Ha-bloody-ha.

But for all his cynicism, Dan was willing to try. He was desperate to escape the fog surrounding him, and if a new school could help with that… Well, how much worse could it get?

Bracing himself against the cautious hope starting to build in his chest, Dan took a deep breath and pushed open the door to his first class. He'd taken maybe two steps towards the desk at the front, hoping to introduce himself quickly and quietly to the teacher before hiding at the back, when a loud crash followed by a sharp intake of breath brought his head spinning round. On the back row, behind a sea of expectant students gawking at the new arrival, was a dark-haired boy fumbling to pick his things up off the floor. Though his slightly-tragic emo fringe covered half his face, Dan could see that the boys cheeks were flaming.

'What the hell did I do to you?' Dan muttered to himself, his hopeful mood quickly crushed.

'Ahem. Good morning, you must be Daniel,' came a quiet voice, and Dan turned his attention back to the small woman at the front of the room, 'I'm Miss Porter and this is your form, with whom you'll have most of your classes. Seeing as Mr Lester seems so excited by your arrival,' she added with a pointed glare at the boy who'd dared to disturb her classroom, 'you may take a seat next to him.'

Dan locked eyes with the boy at the back of the room and felt his own cheeks flush as the class broke out into muffled snickering.

So it was like this already was it?

Just great.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil's POV.

I didn't mean to make a scene. Honest.

I just couldn't help it.

When the new boy walked in, I was hit with such a tidal wave of déjà vu and fear it was like I'd been physically punched. I felt my breath hitch and every muscle tense, my arm flinching and knocking everything off my desk.

I've never seen anyone like him.

He's gold, almost like the girl I met so many years ago, an ethereal, blinding, celestial storm of glittering gold and silver – or at least he should be. I can see it, pressed against his skin, fighting to be seen somewhere in his eyes – but he's not.

His colour is black, a thick, oppressive, fog that lingers around him and makes my eyes water from here. It's evil, this cloud. Toxic. I can see it trying to smother the gold, put out the stars that should spark from every inch of him.

I think it might kill him.

I think it might kill me.

Before I have a chance to think beyond an overwhelming panic, I hear my name and force myself back to the present. A few girls are giggling, and the new boy (Dan, the part of my brain that was paying attention notes), shoots me a wary glance before frowning and looking away. Reluctantly, he walks towards the back of the room, towards me.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Dan's POV.

By 11:15, I've given up on new starts. Fuck hope. Fuck recovery.

I can't do this.

Just over two hours into the day, it's clear how much I missed before switching schools (weeks as an inpatient in the psychiatric ward won't do wonders for your basic algebra skills), and as if that wasn't discouraging enough, Phil, the drama queen from this morning, can hardly look at me. So much for good grades. So much for making friends too, it looks like.

I know I'm being ridiculous to quit so soon, but I can't think straight; with every second, it's harder to breathe and my skin burns, hot and dry. By the time my vision starts to blur and my ears ring, it's all I can do to stand up and race out of the room. My heart thunders in my chest, racing so that I don't even hear if anyone tries to stop me. Running almost blindly, I lock myself in the first toilet cubicle I can find and ball my clammy hands against my eyes before crouching against the door.

This isn't the first time I've had a panic attack, but it doesn't get any less terrifying. It's a good ten minutes before my breathing steadies, the darkness helping to calm me down, and another twenty before I feel able to stand, my legs shaky and uncertain with fatigue. My whole body aches as if I've run a marathon, and I can tell that if I had the energy I'd cry. Now that my head's a bit clearer, I'm hit with an uncomfortable guilt and shame at giving up so soon. How can I face going back to class having made such a spectacle of myself?

Then again, how can I face myself knowing I didn't?

Sighing, I dust of my trousers and take a last, deep, shuddering breath to steady myself. Now or never I suppose.

Resigned to getting through the rest of the day, I unlock the door and step out of the cubicle – straight into Phil.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshit.


	3. Chapter 3

_Phil's POV._

I try not to take offence to Dan's expression when he sees me. I try not to take it personally when his face falls and his jaw sets angrily.

I try not to show my concern when I note his shaking hands, the scratches and tear tracks that mark his cheeks, and I really, really, try to control the impulse to hug him, to run my hands through his sweat-drenched curls.

Or kiss him.

Honest, I try.

For the most part I'm successful; I give his shoulder what I hope is a reassuring squeeze before taking a step back, giving him space. I lounge as nonchalantly as I can against the sinks, shoving my hands in my pockets to try and defuse some tension (and not, I tell myself, just because if I didn't I might be tempted to hold his hands or something equally as embarrassing).

'Are you ok?' I ask, the words falling clumsily in the silence. For a moment, they sit there, sloppy and awkward, and I wonder if he'll acknowledge them at all.

'Are we talking now?' He counters, and the shiver in his words makes their attempted bitterness easier to ignore. 'Sure I don't repulse you?'

'Of course you don't.' I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. 'If you did, I wouldn't have followed you, and I definitely wouldn't be asking how you were.'

'Doesn't matter how I am. No need for you to care.' Dan replies with a small shrug, and I watch as he steps towards the sink next to me, refusing to meet my eyes as he splashes his face with cool water.

'But I do.' I say, turning so that I meet his gaze in the mirror. He must find it easier to talk to my reflection, because when I ask again, 'Are you ok?', he hesitantly picks the words up.

'No. No, I'm not ok.'

I can almost hear the snap inside him as whatever was holding him together breaks.

'Ok. Want to talk about it?'

'With you? Sure.' He scoffs, instantly on the defensive.

'Fine. I'm not going to force you. All I'll say is this: I can see you're in pain, I can see you've been through more than anyone our age ever should have, and I'm here. If you need anyone… I'm here.'

I nearly walk away.

I'm supposed to walk away – but then Dan opens his mouth and bites back:

'You don't 'see' anything, you pretentious prick.'

And I almost explode.

Clearly, I'm not going to get anywhere with this boy unless I'm completely honest with him.

'I see a lot,' I begin carefully, 'like… things not everyone else does.' I add, deliberately raising one eyebrow in an almost challenging way. In spite of his snapping, I can see that Dan's intrigued.

'Like what?'

'Like… colours. Auras, emotions, stories.' I try to explain, knowing I sound crazy, but unable to stop now I've started – there's something about this kid I trust.

'Uh-huh. And I see dead people.' He snorts, sending himself up as he mimics the famous movie line.

'I'm serious.' I say, laughing myself now. 'I mean it!'

'So Sherlock,' Dan begins, considering me carefully, 'what's my story?'

'Are you testing me now?' I tease, feeling my vision go blurry as, without even thinking about it, I try to see through his colours. If I concentrate, I should start to see shapes, pictures… little glimpses of this stranger's life.

'I suppose I am.' He says, and my lip quirks at his cocky tone.

'Give me a minute.' I reply; I can't see Dan anymore, just the all-consuming black cloud around him and the feeble sparks of gold trying to break through. Before long, pictures start to form. I see gashes of light bleeding through, row after row of neat… lines? Streaks? Cuts.

Cuts.

I see a tiny, skeletal frame drowning in the gashes, dodging blow after blow from above. He cowers, this figure, and then he's gone, smothered by a sudden rush of smoke. When it settles, the ashes aren't ashes; it's dirt. Soil, a huge heap, growing and growing and growing – and now there's two figures. Two boys. The scene takes on a silvery glow, and I know I'm seeing a glimpse of something coming. One of the boys beats at the soil, desperately hurling it as far away as he can, and the other clutches at it desperately, swallows it, hoards it…

Buries himself in it.

'No!' I scream, completely unnerved. I've never seen anything like this before, and as my thoughts are jarred back to reality, I feel my hand throb. When I look down, I see one of the knuckles has split – I must have hit the wall. Literally. 'No.' I say again, my voice stronger now, and I know I've just made a promise I'll keep all my life.

'No what?' Pleads a small voice, and I turn to see Dan cowering, waxy skin and trembling lips betraying his terror.

What the hell have I done?

 _Dan's POV._

'Are you testing me now?' Phil asks, his tone light and joking. I feel myself smirk; whilst I was beyond annoyed and terrified when I realised he'd followed me, I can't seem to help myself now. I'm more than intrigued by this strange boy.

'I suppose I am.' I challenge. Instantly, his gaze seems unfocused, and I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't see me at all. It's like he's on another planet.

'Give me a minute.' He murmurs, and I resolve to wait patiently – but within seconds it all seems to go wrong.

If possible, Phil's pale skin loses even more colour, and his whole body shakes violently. My arm starts to stretch, subconsciously reaching out to steady him, but before I can do anything, he screams a nearly incoherent 'No' and launches a fist at the wall. Bile rises in my throat as his fear seems to clutch at me too.

'No what?' I beg, trying to bring him back to the present. He takes a few deep shuddering breathes and by the time he looks at me, his face is flushed with what I can only assume is guilt.

'I'm sorry,' he says, 'I didn't mean to see all that.' And now it's my turn to flush, my heart racing with the suspense. He knows. He'll think I'm a freak and I'll lose the closest thing I have to a friend here.

'What did you see?' I ask, wary now.

'Pain. A lot of pain,' he replies slowly, like he's weighing the truth of the words on his tongue, 'and heartache. I saw blood. Self harm, I think – and emptiness. Loneliness, starvation? Abuse? But… internal. Like it comes from yourself. You think you're alone, and you're desperate to… escape?'

But escape is the wrong word, and he knows it.

'I –' I start, not sure whether I'm about to apologise or accuse, explain or evade.

'Dan, how badly do you want to die?' He asks bluntly, and something in the pit of my stomach drops. I feel everything in me collapse.

'More than anything I've ever known.' I admit, and in those words is everything, all the years of self-loathing, isolation, convincing myself that the very idea of my existence is unnatural… all the years of self-destruction sit in the air in front me, like I'm physically reaching out and offering Phil a handful of my broken pieces.

The question is, what will he do with them?

And what the hell have I done?

 _ **Authors Note: Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Reviews, suggestions, and feedback are always appreciated so please don't hesitate to message me or leave reviews:) What do you think will happen next?**_


End file.
